


A Million Mistakes

by mon-amour-eternel (dottie_wan_kenobi)



Series: kc drabbles [12]
Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: 19th Century, Canon Compliant, Caroline Forbes is an Original, Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus' Attempts At Intimacy, Non-Explicit Sex, Parent Caroline Forbes, Parent Klaus Mikaelson, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Child Abuse, Period-Typical Racism, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-12 00:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10477953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottie_wan_kenobi/pseuds/mon-amour-eternel
Summary: Klaus scares Marcel while keeping his kingdom running smoothly, and so Marcel runs to Caroline.





	1. i’ll make a million mistakes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Forgotten Original](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/280854) by LostGirlInTheForest. 



> WARNING: Mikael is a dickhead.
> 
> Title comes from, of course, Dear Theodosia.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus scares Marcel while keeping his kingdom running smoothly, and so Marcel runs to Caroline.

Caroline ran her hands through the boy’s hair, comforting him as best she could. “He tries, Marcel. He does.”

Marcel’s shoulders shook with sobs, and Caroline, in that moment, hated Mikael more than ever before. It was Mikael who ruined Klaus, who now ruined Marcel.

“Why, mama? Why is he so mean?” The young boy pleaded. He curled into her, and her heart shattered at the sight of her son, laid so low.

She laid down with him, determined to stay the night. Klaus would just have to sleep alone, that night. 

In a whisper, she told her son the secret they’d been keeping from him for two years. “Marcel, I have to be honest with you. The truth is ugly but in order to understand why your father is the way he is, you must know.”

He sniffled, “okay.” With wide eyes, his innocence was still intact, at least a little bit. She didn’t doubt that the next death he witnessed at his father’s hand would rip it away from him.

“Your father was born of an illegal relationship. His father was not the same as Aunt Rebekah and Uncle Elijah’s father. Their father, Mikael, knew that Klaus was not his son and treated him as such. Your father received beatings for every little thing he did. He was never shown love, just anger and aggression.”

“He isn’t angry and aggressive with you,” he pointed out, wiping away his tears.

“You’re right,” she conceded. “But that is because I have been loyal to him since we were children, over 800 years ago now. He has learned to be affectionate with me, but he has not with you. Though he would never hurt you,” she hurried to assure. “He just does not know how to be anything but cruel, and doesn’t think about how you will react to it.”

Marcel looked away, blinking suspiciously again. “Will you tell him that I don’t want to see his business please? I don’t think I can.”

“Of course, darling,” she soothed, rubbing his back.

“Thank you, mama,” he sighed. “Can we talk about somethin’ else now?”

They talked until his eyes drooped. “You go on to bed, and I’ll be right back, okay?”

He nodded, mostly asleep. The moment she was out of the bed, he curled into a tighter circle, more on the spot she’d been in than in his own.

She slunk out silently. As soon as she hit the steps, Klaus was there with his arms crossed. “Done coddling the boy, are you?”

“I think you mean, ‘done comforting our son, are you?’,” she snapped. The urge to push him down the staircase was strong, but she knew she couldn’t hurt him. All she could do was sass him ‘til the sun rose and there would be no emotional harm done. Sass didn’t remind him of what Mikael did to him.

She loved him more than any other being on the planet, and she could not do that to him. No matter how annoying he was.

He glowered at her, knowing exactly what she was thinking. Her refusal to do as other wives do and just slap him silly when he needed a good whack was something they pointedly ignored, but don’t be fooled. He knew exactly why she didn’t. “He shouldn’t  _ need  _ comforting!”

Her hands went to her hips instantly. “He is twelve, and dealing with having  _ you  _ for a father. Some comfort could go a long way in ensuring he doesn’t turn against you in the future.” Gods, if only he used his brain and realized that. She wouldn’t be able to bear being caught between her husband and her son.

His eyes, usually lovely and sweet, were hard. “No matter what I do, he will go against me, I who has saved him from torment, who has fed and clothed him, treated him as my own, who -- “

She raised a hand, cutting him off. “Not another word,  _ Niklaus _ . Think about what you are saying. Think about who you are emulating right now, and how you felt when you were in Marcel’s place. Then perhaps you will realize just why I am choosing him over you.”

She turned, ready to return to her child. He wasn’t hers by blood, and she hadn’t chosen him, but she’d loved him since he stepped into her home, Klaus right behind him.

“You dare compare me to Mikael?” He spit, reaching for her. She spun, grabbing his wrist and twisting.

“Yes,” she said simply. “And before I forget, Marcel has decided he wants nothing of your ‘family business’. So leave him out of it, or you will regret it.”  _ You’re lucky I love you _ hung between them, not needing to be said.

She left him in the hallway, a glare chasing her to her baby’s room.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, a charcoal drawing of Caroline cradling Marcel in her arms sat innocently on his bedside table. On the bottom, he’d written,  _ you have given me something to aspire for, All My Love, Klaus. _

With a sigh, Caroline left it. It would do Marcel some good to see the human side of his father, after all.

It didn’t mean he was off her hit list, but it was a start. That was all she could ask for.


	2. i'm gonna give you all of my love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Rockabye from Clean Bandit, Sean Paul, and Anne-Marie.

In those first weeks, Marcel pushed every boundary he could, sure that they would give him up, or worse, treat him as a slave again. Caroline, an old hat at insecurities, forced Klaus to humor Marcel. Be firm but gentle, she said.

And so Marcel called them Klaus and Caroline, was the proud owner of a queen sized bed, and was allowed to speak out of turn, so long as he didn’t curse. Through it all, Klaus and Caroline doted on him, buying him new clothes, books, shoes, and everything else his heart could desire.

Their need to soothe his worries was what led them to the situation they were in now.

It was storming outside, and the only ones in the large home were Caroline, her husband, her son, and some servants who lived in the building. The storm plus the fact that no vampire ears were around could really only lead to one thing.

Caroline was well aware she was keening, probably too loud, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was hitting her peak once again. Other things she didn’t care about included if she was pulling all of Klaus’ hair out, if any of the servants below them suspected, and where her brother- and sister-in-law had gone.

She arched as Klaus thrusted into her, on the edge. He’d teased her for an entire hour, and now she was finally going to get to come. It was _right there_ \--

A knock came on their door, loud and clear. “C-Caroline?” Marcel called. His voice shook with fear -- that was new. He’d never been scared around them, just...cautious. Thunder boomed outside their window, shaking the house. He knocked again, a little louder. “Klaus!”

Klaus dropped onto her with a groan. “One moment, Marcellus!”

He pulled away from the bed, from her, and searched for their clothes. Caroline took the moment to rub it out and bite Klaus’ pillow to muffle herself while she was at it.

He glared as he pulled his sleep pants on over his erection, though there was no malice behind it, just lust and jealousy. He was kind enough to toss her her undergarments and night dress, which she hurriedly put on while Klaus moved to the door.

Just before he opened it, Marcel yelped, “open the door!”

Caroline sucked in a breath. Any other situation, any other person, and Klaus would have their tongue for daring to boss him around. She hoped her husband wouldn’t do it now, hoped he would just let the poor, obviously frightened child into their room.

He turned the lock, twisted the handle, and stepped to the side to let him in. Marcel scrambled in the second the door was open more than a sliver, and ran for her. He stood at the side of the bed, not quite sure enough yet to climb in.

“Miss Caroline, can I sleep in here tonight? Please?” She noticed but didn’t point out that he’d reverted back to using a title for her. “I’m scared of the storm,” he whispered, probably not wanting Klaus to know.

But Klaus was right there, crouching by the bed so they were of a height. “You may sleep in here for tonight, and any other night there’s a storm, but only if you do one thing.”

Marcel looked at him questioningly, though he was still jumpy. Lightning cracked, and he clutched tightly to her hand. “What do I have to do?”

Klaus gently ran a hand down Marcel’s arm, calming the boy. He made Marcel feel safe, which was something Caroline could’ve only hoped for in the previous weeks. “You have to try to get over this fear.”

“If you can’t, it’s alright,” Caroline added, patting his back. “We just want you to try. But still, you’re always welcome here with us.” While not strictly true, it eased him, and that was what mattered. “Klaus, help him up here.”

With an indulgent smile, Klaus lifted Marcel by the armpits so he would sleep between them, then climbed in himself. _Thank gods the sheets weren’t too sweaty_ , she couldn’t help but think.

Klaus seemed to catch the thought, because his smile turned wicked. She pointedly ignored him for Marcel, who seemed to lose all reservations as thunder rumbled again.

He clung to her, and well, it was the first night of many that she held him as he slept.

 

* * *

 

By the time a year had gone by, Marcel was much more sure of his place with them.

Except when it came to the balls and parties they went to, that is.

It was impossible to enter the parties without something catching the attention of the crowds -- whether it was Rebekah’s daring clothes, Klaus’ reputation, or the black boy who entered with the most wealthy family in the south.

Of course it was a scandal, as most things were. One of the servants had gossiped and now everyone in New Orleans knew that the rumor about one’s sex life during marriage was false.

The Mikaelson name couldn’t come without a scandal, it seemed. The problem wasn’t that, the constant drama. It was the fact that Marcel had to attend (Klaus’ orders), but always felt so self-conscious, he never had any fun. Not that the other people would ever let him.

He was never more aware of his, let’s say, reality than when he was with them at the parties.

Klaus and Caroline knew this, knew that he would sit with his Uncle Elijah, not dance or talk to anyone, and be on his best behavior. Honestly, she vastly prefered him tracking mud into her home, or evading his bath, to the husk of him out in public.

It was one of those nights when Caroline finally got sick of it. She tightened her hand on Klaus’ shoulder, not enough to hurt but enough to show her seriousness. “You have to do something to help Marcel.”

He raised an eyebrow as they spun, but she knew he was just playing. Plans were already flitting through his mind. “What would you have me do?”

“What says ‘he’s here to stay, deal with it’?”

“I could dance with him, or you could. I could kill anyone who questions his presence here,” he thought aloud.

She shook her head. “No, not the second one. He sees enough of that already, he doesn’t need you showing him it’s okay if it’s for a purpose.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Though I am positive he already thinks so. You always claim that your victims are your enemies, so it’s justified.”

His eyes shuttered. “Then what shall I do?” _I don’t know what else I could do_ , he didn’t say. Oh, Klaus. Always wanting to appease her.

She took a moment to think, stepping a little closer than was socially acceptable. “Make a speech?”

“We’re guests, love, I can’t.” His smirk appeared, amused as ever.

“Defend him to someone, then. Make sure he can hear you from over there.” Her head tilted in their son’s direction. “Elijah could tell him what you say, but it would be best if he heard for himself. Do you agree?”

Klaus’ eyes weren’t on here, and his attention was clearly elsewhere. She turned her head slightly to look in the same direction he was, and saw a man standing by the table that Elijah and Marcel sat at.

They fell out of the waltz position almost immediately, more concerned with that than decorum.

Klaus got there first, face set dangerously. The last time he’d had that look, it was because Mikael had caught up with them and was taunting her.

“Excuse me,” he said loudly, cutting into whatever the man was saying. Marcel, curled backwards into Elijah, brightened slightly, though his eyes never left the intruder. “Perhaps you can tell me why you are harassing your guests?”

The man, the _host_ , scowled. “Slaves weren’t invited,” was all he said.

“Good thing, then, that he isn’t a slave,” Caroline countered, standing shoulder to shoulder with her husband.

“Fine, then no _negroes_ allowed.”

Klaus pressed his lips into a line. He didn’t hesitate before saying, “that is my son. His name is Marcellus Mikaelson. And you, my host, said that all Mikaelsons were invited.”

It was a challenge, and the man rose to the occasion. “I was referring to your other brother, Kol, or your sister, Rebekah, not _him_.” He almost continued, but Klaus interrupted.

“You have two options: have all of us, including Marcellus, or have none of us, and none of our support.”

There was that ugly scowl again. “I -- “

“Elijah, please escort Marcellus back home.” He waited for Elijah to cajole the boy into leaving, waited for them to get out of earshot, before he flashed forward and dug his fangs into the idiot man’s neck.

Hours later, they finally made their way home.

Marcel was tucked between Rebekah and Elijah at the table, even though he should have been in bed hours before. As soon as he saw them, he raced for them.

“Thank you,” he said, hugging them around their waists.

“Of course,” Klaus said, ruffling his hair.

Marcel smiled up at him, and Caroline’s dead heart stumbled at the sight.

 

* * *

 

After Klaus’ little blow out, Marcel came down with a cold.

No, if Caroline thinks about, he had the symptoms before hand. Klaus was just too busy showing him how to control his subjects to notice.

Caroline was just getting a bowl of soup for him when Klaus stopped her. She hadn’t seen him since their argument.

“What?” She snapped.

“Caroline, what has all the servants in such a hurry?”

Clearly, he wouldn't be mentioning last night. She sighed. “Marcel has come down with an illness. I say it’s the stress, but the physician says it’s a common cold. And you know what, he is acting just like you. Can’t sit still, has to have what he wants when he wants it, fights me when I tell him the right thing to do….”

“Ha ha, love, very funny.” He didn’t smile but she could tell it was a close thing. “How about I take that up to him and you have a break?”

“Fine. But if you scare him again darling...” She let the threat hang in the air while she handed him the bowl and the spoon.

“Of course,” he said, kissing her cheek and watching her go. He headed upstairs then, but took a quick detour to a corner, where he bit into his wrist and let a few drops of blood fall into the soup. Most illnesses weren’t cured by vampire blood, but it couldn’t hurt to have some in him. Whether it worked or not, it was a risk he was happy to take.

He moved to his son’s room, careful not to let the soup spill. When he opened the door, it was to Marcel sitting up in bed, groaning and whining to one of the servants who cared for him most often.

“Take a break,” he compelled, and took the same spot once the servant had left.

Marcel looked at him uncertainly, then gazed at the soup. “Why s’it that color?”

Klaus smiled, glad that Marcel wasn’t scared enough to revert to not speaking out of turn. “It’s just some bits of a potion that will make you feel better,” he lied. No reason to upset the boy.

“Oh. Thanks,” Marcel said, not looking at him. The bowl switched hands, leaving Klaus to watch somewhat awkwardly as Marcel chowed down.

“I’m sorry about last night, Marcellus,” Klaus said, tentatively reaching out to pat his back. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was just trying to show you what you will one day be a part of.”

Finally, his son’s eyes met his. Marcel bit his lip, “it’s okay. Mama said you have a hard time bonding with people and that’s why you’re so incompetent at feelings.” He smirked, and it was definitely Caroline’s attitude peeking out, not Klaus’. “She said there are things we could do together that don’t involve traumatising me,” he added, smirk turning into a genuine smile.

With an extremely amused sigh, Klaus agreed, “she’s right, as is always the case. But for now, just finish your soup and we can bond later. Hmm?”

Marcel copied his sigh and handed him the empty bowl. He flopped back, and Klaus _saw_ the scheme forming in his eyes. “Will you stay?” He asked, making his voice as tired and whiny as he could.

Klaus gave an indulgent smile, setting the bowl on the bedside table. “Just the once,” he said, laying beside Marcel. Gods, the boy was making him soft. He’d have to kill more of his enemies whenever Marcel felt better.

It ended up not being just the once, but no one mention that to Klaus.

 

* * *

 

They were still trying to bond, several years later. Klaus hadn’t honed the skill in a day, after all. But he was trying.

Marcel was sixteen, almost seventeen, and bored with weapons training, which was how he and Klaus had been bonding.

“C’mon, there has to be something else we can do,” Marcel cajoled. He was hoping to do anything that didn’t include bows, guns, swords, or anything like that. Maybe his papa could teach him to draw, or work on his writing.

“Let me once again suggest that we turn him and go hunting together,” Kol called from somewhere nearby.

“Let me once again shut down your stupid ideas,” Caroline called back.

Rebekah snickered and filled her cup with fresh blood; Marcel rolled his eyes in a spot-on imitation of his mother.

“Why don’t you try learning new languages? Niklaus knows them all,” Elijah suggested.

Klaus looked to his wife. _What do you think_ , he didn’t ask her. “I think it’s a great idea,” she said, setting her fork down. “Marcel will get to learn new things, and Klaus will get to learn to be a patient teacher. We should start now. What do you want to do first?”

Marcel chuckled. “Well, I already know some French, so maybe we could expand on that?”

“ _Bonne idée, mon cher fils. Nous avons besoin de savoir combien tu sais. Comprends-tu?_ ”

Marcel, wide eyed, said, “um, I have no idea what you just said. All I heard was ‘good idea’.”

“ _Donc, non, tu ne comprends pas?_ ”

Marcel scowled. “What?”

Caroline lightly smacked Klaus’ arm, more playful than angry. “Klaus! Don’t just throw him into it headfirst!”

“That’s why I said we need to know what he knows,” Klaus said, biting off a smirk.

Marcel scoffed and rolled his eyes, much to everyone’s amusement. They should really just change his name to Caroline Jr. He acted so much like her, with his attitude, his mannerisms, and his quick wit, that it would only make sense.

“Say something else,” Rebekah said, leaning forward to see Marcel’s face better.

“ _Que veux tu que je dise?_ ”

“ _Tout ce qui va le mettre en colère,_ ” she replied.

Klaus laughed. “ _D’accord. Hmm. Ah! Il peut à peine tirer un pistolet et il est rarement sérieux au sujet de ses études._ ”

“What does that mean?” Marcel asked, playing right into the game.

“He said you can barely shoot a gun properly and you aren’t serious about your school work,” Kol said dryly, returning to the table from...whatever it was he was doing.

“Shut up,” Marcel said, equally awed and angry.

“ _Ferme-la_ , Marcellus, _ferme-la_ ,” Klaus corrected.

Marcel sighed, and pretended he wasn’t laughing alongside his parents, aunt, and uncles.

 

* * *

 

It was only when Marcel was outwardly older than both of his parents that he asked to be turned.

On his eighteenth birthday, they’d offered to turn him whenever he wanted.

“Let me sleep on it,” he’d said and then never gave an answer.

So when, on the morning of his twenty-fifth birthday, he asked, “can I be turned today?”, they were both a little shocked.

They shared a look. “Uh...of course, Marcel. Klaus, you go fetch one of the servants. Marcel, come over here.”

Her boys did as she said. Klaus was very quick, having one of the older slaves in the room within moments. Marcel moved much slower, stepping to her side with caution she hadn’t seen since he was younger.

She didn’t hesitate to bite into her wrist and have her blood drip into an empty cup. Once there was more than enough, she handed it to him.

His eyes moved between her own and Klaus’. “What does it taste like?”

“Metally, and tangy. It’s a bit of an acquired taste,” Klaus said, moving closer. The servant stayed by the door, eyes glazed over. “Go on, Marcellus, drink it.”

Marcel pursed his lips, then forced himself to down all of it. He coughed, smacked his lips.

“Are you sure about this?” Caroline asked.

“You cannot go back from this,” Klaus added.

Marcel nodded, bracing himself.

Klaus struck, snapping his son’s neck. His body didn’t hit the ground, as both Klaus and Caroline were there to hold him up.

The slave behind them blinked, nonplussed.

Klaus lifted Marcel, and moved him to the couch.

They didn’t leave his side until he’d awoken and drained the servant dry.

 

* * *

 

Many, many years later, Marcel was home from war and everyone was celebrating, even though almost a whole year had gone by.

It was 1919, coming up on one hundred years of Marcel being in their lives.

They were planning a ball, with Marcel as the guest of honor. Elijah, Kol, and Rebekah were there to celebrate, too. Everything was going great; Mikael hadn’t found them in a century, their son was home, the whole family was together (even Finn, in his box), and most of all, they were happy. As sappy as that sounds, it was true.

“Are you coming with us?” Caroline asked Marcel, as he helped her put on a necklace. “We can wait for you to get ready, but not for very long. The play is starting in an hour.”

“Okay, why not? I’ll be down in the foyer when it’s time,” he said, and moved off to his room to get ready.

Caroline would regret asking him for the rest of her eternal life.

Marcel was ready to go, and he went. And when they took their seats, he wasn’t with them.

Instead, he was on the stage, being crucified as a symbol from Mikael.

The theater burned down around him.

She would never forget the way Klaus screamed, “Marcellus! Marcellus!” until the smoke choked him. She would never forget that she cried until she couldn’t breath anymore.

She would never forget the look on her son’s face as he died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> "Bonne idée, mon cher fils. Nous avons besoin de savoir combien tu sais. Comprends-tu?" = "Good idea, my dear son. We need to know what you know. Do you understand?"
> 
> "Donc, non, tu ne comprends pas?" = "So, no, you don't understand?"
> 
> "Que veux tu que je dise?" = "What do you want me to say?"
> 
> "Tout ce qui va le mettre en colère" = "Anything that will make him angry"
> 
> "D’accord. Hmm. Ah! Il peut à peine tirer un pistolet et il est rarement sérieux au sujet de ses études." = "Okay. Hmm. Ah! He can barely shoot a gun and he is rarely serious about his studies."
> 
> "Ferme-la" = "Shut up"


	3. i just wanna love you, i got you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parents without a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Silas, angst, and lots of Delena (both together and individual) bashing.
> 
> Set in s4 of TVD.
> 
> Title from I Got You by Bebe Rexha

Silas played his little game with them all, none more so than the vampires of the group.

Which meant Giuseppe Salvatore and Lexi Branson and even Lucien Castle appeared in Mystic Falls. They were always angry, but still enough like their true selves to not cause suspicion until Silas wanted you suspicious. There was an edge of pure, unmitigated  _ danger  _ in each of them, uncontrollable and unpredictable.

Klaus had to remind himself that it was just Silas, insisting on getting what he wanted when he wanted it. Kind of like himself but worse, Caroline said. She joked that it was the worst thing about Mystic Falls -- there were two of him.

That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part, Klaus thought, was the others around he and Caroline. Always scheming, always thinking the world revolved around them.  _ No one cares that Elena is being mildly inconvenienced by this _ , he wanted to say every single time he was roped into one of their stupid, foolish plans.  _ No one with half a brain cell cares about Elena, period. _ (Elijah didn’t count. It wasn’t his fault he fell for the same face every time, it was the person behind the face’s fault for manipulating him into affection.)

Speaking of, Elena was going on and on about one of those stupid, foolish plans, one that was clearly Damon’s opinions regurgitated into a plan (sponsored by Damon, Caroline liked to say). He was being forced to sit at the table, Caroline practically in his lap since they were in a booth meant for four, maybe five people. It was seating eight people, nine if you counted Elena and Damon as separate entities.

Ostensibly, they were there for several reasons: they wanted to be kept up-to-date, Caroline was slowly cracking Bonnie’s shell so she would be open to a friendship, Rebekah didn’t want to be there alone, etc. There were more, he was sure.

In reality, they were there because Caroline liked to watch the trainwreck that was the Salvatores + Doppelganger. Entertainment at it’s finest.

Klaus buried his nose into Caroline’s hair and forced himself to hide his distaste. He’d rather hear literally any person on the planet droning on more than her. Aurora de Martel would be nice, right about now, with her nails-on-a-chalkboard-voice, obvious flirting, and even more obvious hatred. Caroline would probably claw her eyes out -- and what a wonderful sight that would be. Much more entertaining than Damon Squared and The Judgement Squad.

The doppelganger stuttered and stopped; his head popped up, intrigued. Maybe Damon had cut her stream off; the power imbalance was a delicious little treat. (Caroline found it disgusting, but he disagreed. It really added to the not-boring factor that was so often left lacking.)

But no, she was looking towards the doors. Her mouth was open in evident confusion (and the fact that he knew her well enough to know confusion on her face just made him despair. There were very few things he hated more than doppelgangers) but she didn’t seem to be scared or anything. Not that she did that anymore, with her link to Damon making her fearless.

His head tilted so he could see what had stopped her. When he did, his whole body froze.

A familiar grin, hair shorn close to the skull, an air a mix of cockiness and submission. The posture was the same, as was the gait, the...everything.

He, Caroline, and Rebekah watched, shocked, as …  _ it  _ stepped closer to the group. It wasn’t his son, it wasn’t  _ his _ , it probably wasn’t even a shred human. No matter how much it resembled the boy he’d lost in 1919, it wasn’t him.

Objectively, he knew it was Silas, jerking their chains. Subjectively, he knew it was nothing but a shapeshifter, an evil, malicious monster who was there to threaten his family.

“Papa,” it said the second it was within feet of the table. “Why are you making that face? Something wrong?”

That godsdamned attitude, the one Klaus loved to hate and hated to love. His teeth clenched and his jaw jumped. How dare Silas do this. He could understand wanting to be with the love of your life, wanting chaos and destruction and death. But he could not understand why anyone would do...this.

“Silas,” he growled, easing Caroline further into Rebekah’s side. The children around him tensed, not knowing who Silas was showing himself as but trusting that Klaus did. It probably helped that Caroline and Rebekah were glaring so hard, they could’ve burned a hole with the heat in their gazes. Three of six Originals glaring at someone? Definitely a threat.

The grin morphed into a sinister smirk, one that he’d seen much too often lately. “How did you know,” he drawled, leaning up against the high backed seat. Rebekah leaned back, disgusted. “Was it the teeth? I think his are a little more crooked than I have them.” Silas flashed the teeth of his son, perfectly straight, unlike the real ones.

_ “Are”. _ Fucking Silas.

He took a quick moment to make sure his eyes stayed human and his fangs didn’t break through his gums. No need to traumatize the innocents of this little town anymore than he already had.

“No, it was the part where you’ve taken the form of someone who’s long dead,” Rebekah answered for them, spitting the words out. Caroline was frozen, pressed up against him. He wasn’t faring much better.

“Oh, this ‘ole boy? Please. He isn’t dead,” Silas pfft’ed, waving a hand. “Haven’t you been down that way in the last hundred years? Marcellus here is on top of the world.”

Caroline growled, “shut up.  _ Now _ .” All eyes (of the children, that is) snapped to her. She was known for being the calm presence that could branch between the children and Elijah, depending on if he was on their side or not, and Klaus, Rebekah, and on occasion, Kol. She had never shown the side of her that was angry, hungry, and defensive to the children. That was why they were all scared of Klaus but civil with Caroline. She was the nice one who wouldn’t kill you if a mood swing hit.

His eyes flicked to Bonnie, who didn’t seem scared of Caroline. But then, she didn’t always seem scared of him, so he couldn’t be sure if Caroline was losing a potential friend here or not. He hoped not. She had so few….

Bonnie wasn’t important right now, though. Caroline was. His hand, already on her waist, tucked around her and pulled her closer. He wouldn’t let her fight Silas, especially not with him taking the visage of their son. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t take much effort on Silas’ part for her to jump over the table and get hurt trying to decapitate him.

“Now, why would I do that? I’m telling the truth.”

“No, you’re manipulating us to believe your...your idiotic, unfounded stories. Marcel is dead! I saw it happen!” Caroline’s voice grew more and more distressed. Tears sprung to her eyes, visibly shocking the children; he held her tighter to him, heart cracking open. “You’re lying!”

Silas made a poor imitation of his son’s empathetic face, mouth turning down and eyes softening. It made Klaus want to pull a page out of Kol’s book and torture him, rip him limb from limb.

“I’m not lying. He’s alive, running around and terrorizing the witches and wolves. He goes by Marcel Gerard, now. I guess it sounds better than Mikaelson.” Silas shrugged. “You should go see for yourselves.”

Klaus stiffened. Silas wanted them to go to New Orleans? No way it was happening now. He refused to play into the evil plans of the immortal in front of him.

He was about to snap something to that effect when the insufferable ingrate Salvatore brother said, “um, I know you’re Silas, but who the hell are you supposed to be now? We’re all confused and this little pow-wow here,” he waved his fingers, “isn’t telling us much.”

Silas grinned. “Oh, this is Marcellus Mikaelson. The son of the Original Hybrid and his darling wife, Caroline.” He paused, surveyed the group -- the three Originals, the Salvatores, the doppelganger, the witch, and the hunter -- and said, “I was going to have you do something, threaten you all, etc. etc., but you know what? I like leaving on this note. Ta ta!”

And then he was sweeping out of the bar, taking the last of their son with him.

The second he was out of view, Caroline elbowed him hard in the ribs and tried to push Rebekah out of the booth. He clamped his arms around her, ignoring the pain, while Rebekah threw her legs over Caroline’s, keeping her in her spot.

“I have to go see,” Caroline said, voice cracking. “I have to go see if he was telling the truth. I have to see Marcel.” She turned slightly, to address Klaus. “I have to see our son! He needs us, Klaus, please.” She was so distraught, so despaired. His heart broke all over again at the sight. “Please let me go see him,” she begged.

“Care,” Rebekah said, her demeanor softer than he’d seen it since the 1820’s, “he didn’t survive. He couldn’t have. The fire was too great, you know that. I’m sorry.”

Caroline sobbed, hating the truth, turning and pushing her face into his chest. The rest of the table watched, caught between intensely uncomfortable, confused, and upset. The witch, of all them all, looked the most empathetic, with the Rippah not far behind. (Good, that was good. She would hopefully be nice to Caroline after this, be more open to a friendship. Gods knew she needed it.)

Rebekah closed her eyes with a sigh, and stood. Klaus quickly pulled himself and Caroline out of the booth, needing to get away from the children and their judgements. Maybe this would finally shock them into realizing ‘Original’ did not equal ‘emotionless’.

He moved to the doors at a fast but human pace. Caroline clutched to his shirt, wrapped around him so tight, he was probably bruising. Her cries were loud and heart wrenching.

Someone stopped him just before he could leave. “Is she alright?” He didn’t look around, but he could tell that most of the people in The Grill were looking their way. Shit.

He tried to put on his socialite smile, the one Caroline said was nice but distant. In an effort to make them stand out less, he spoke in an American accent. “Yes, she’s fine.”

And then they were gone.

 

* * *

 

By the time he set her down on their bed, she’d stopped sobbing. He sat next to her heavily, hating her tears and hating Silas and hating Mikael, but most of all hating that he could do nothing to change the past.

Wiping her eyes, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I believed him.” She sniffed, and pulled herself onto his lap. Always was more tactile the more upset she got. “I just wish it was true. That Marcel somehow made it out, is somehow still alive. King of New Orleans doesn’t sound too shabby,” she laughed wetly.  _ Not for our baby _ , he almost heard her say.

He bit his cheek and rubbed her back. “No, it doesn’t,” he agreed. “He deserved nothing less.”

Klaus wasn’t going to say his name. He hadn’t since that awful night, since Elijah dragged him out of the theater and away from the fire. Since  _ he  _ died and took his parents’ hearts along with him.

He sighed and dropped his head to her shoulder. His wolf wanted him to scent her, but he couldn’t be bothered. He was too tired, too stressed, to do much of anything.

(She smelled so much like him, anyway, that it didn’t matter. His scent permeated her skin, her hair, her clothes, and every other piece of her. There was no need to rub his scent onto her even more. Except….)

He pushed his nose up her neck, taking comfort in both the action and the sigh she gave. He’d forgotten, for a moment, that scenting was comforting and grounding.

Her fingernails ran over his scalp, brushed through his hair.

“I really miss him.”

“I do too,” he whispered, nuzzling closer. “I miss him more and more everyday.”

A single sob fell from her lips. She curled tighter, legs and arms wrapping around him again.

They didn’t say anything else after that, just comforted each other like they had in the weeks and months after his death.


	4. I've got a small query for you: What comes next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot say how sorry I am this took so long to come out! This chapter really fought me, and then my grandpa died, and then I got sucked into the MCU fandom, and etc etc.
> 
> I'm not gonna bore you with that anymore -- I'm just gonna shut up so you can read.
> 
> (Actually: title comes from What Comes Next from Hamilton. Idk if the title fits the chapter exactly but whatever let's wing it amirite)

Every March 4th, the King of New Orleans went into mourning.

He would hide in his rooms all day, until the sun had descended and he could walk to the wretched theater in peace. Every year, like clockwork, he made his way to the charred remains and sat where he almost lost his life.

Every year, he remembered what he lost.

No, he wasn’t the only one who lost a loved one that night. Many humans died, even some werewolves and witches. The only vampires who didn’t make it out were the former King and Queen of New Orleans.

But he made it out; he lived.

Every March 4th, he hated himself more and more for surviving while they didn’t.

* * *

The next day, they were summoned to the Salvatore Boarding House. Klaus didn’t want to go, didn’t want to subject Caroline to the idiocy of the baby vampires and their toys. Caroline, however, insisted. (She made up for it with another round. Afterwards, he was all for going.)

When they saw the gang, sitting around in the living room and scooting to let Matt (who had answered the door) sit again, Damon barely opened his mouth before Caroline shut him down.

“Not a word, Damon, or I’ll cut off your tongue and pull your teeth out one by one.”

Some of them (Elena, Stefan, Matt, Jeremy) jerked back. Others’ mouths dropped open (Bonnie, Alaric). Klaus smiled, delighted by the side of his wife that was rarely seen.

And Damon? He clenched his jaw, and said, “I was just going to say I’m sorry for your loss.”

The statement was bit out. Caroline didn’t even have to share a look with Klaus to know he agreed that Damon was forced to say it.

“Thank you,” she managed, heading straight for his stash. If he was going to make insincere apologies, she would make a drink. Klaus stayed by the couches, making sure no one tried to stop her. She poured two glasses of whiskey and moved back to his side. She did so love presenting a united -- and scary -- front with Klaus.

“So...you had a son?” Elena asked, eyes shifting around. Bonnie cut her a glare, surprisingly.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to answer that,” she said, somewhat diplomatically.

Klaus shrugged, though internally he was putting Bonnie on the list of people he could tolerate for more than an hour. “It’s fine. Yes, we had a son; yes, he died.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” Elena said, perhaps even meaning it. Klaus doubted it, though.

“Thank you,” he and Caroline said politely back. Sorry wouldn’t reverse anything, but the thought was nice. Klaus supposed.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what happened to him?” Stefan asked.

Klaus felt Caroline stiffen at his side. That settled it, really. He would explain, short and bittersweet.

“Mikael tied him up with vervain ropes and burnt a theater down around him,” he said, words clipped. “Let’s stop talking about him, though. Silas needs our attention more than he does.”

Caroline cut him a look from the corner of her eye, but went along with it anyway. All of the children there did as well, perhaps because they recognized Klaus’ tone.

It’d almost been a hundred years, but he couldn’t talk about his son, not really.

* * *

Silas showed up a lot, after that. Always, he wore their son’s face.

Klaus wanted to end him so badly, he shook with his rage. But nothing could stop him, nothing that any of them did. All plans were foiled by him, all ideas found ridiculous.

At every opportunity, he mentioned New Orleans and their boy. He sometimes plead, as their son, for them to return to the city and make him happy. It was a constant, nagging thought that, despite Klaus’ best intentions, cemented itself in his mind.

If he were alive, shouldn’t Klaus go to him? Wouldn’t that be the right thing to do?

It would, and he knew it. Klaus wasn’t often in the business of doing the right thing, but...this is his son. Historically, it’d been _Marcel_ who’d brought out the best in him. Other than Caroline, that was. Either way, domesticity had tamed the beast inside him.

For several days, Klaus thought on it. He didn’t need the beast tamed again -- actually, it was beneficial if he was more cruel than ever before. But he couldn’t take this much longer, seeing the face of his son committing terrible acts, having to console Caroline that _no, it’s all a ruse, it’s not a nightmare but that’s not really him, either_. He was hesitant to let Caroline know how he really felt about it, and during the few days, he found ways to get out of talking about anything of importance at all. They both skirted the topic of New Orleans itself.

On the third day, Klaus decided he would go.

He didn’t ask Caroline. She’d berated herself for falling for Silas’ trick the first time and declared she wouldn’t return to New Orleans until long after Silas was gone, but Klaus knew her well enough to know it was all a facade. If he told her he was going to New Orleans, she’d insist on coming with him.

Truthfully, he told himself as he waited for Caroline to accompany Rebekah somewhere, he’d only be gone a day. All he needed to find out was if what Silas said was true. That shouldn’t take long at all -- just threaten one vampire within the city limits, find out who was the King of New Orleans, see for himself in person, and return home.

Simple.

* * *

Klaus ran there, interested in some exercise. He took a quick feeding break in Atlanta, but didn’t kill the old fool out of respect for Caroline’s wishes of less death.

It was mid-afternoon when he arrived, a balmy day that was punctuated by seemingly all of the citizens being out and about. Klaus largely ignored them, more interested in finding a vampire young and weak enough that intimidating them wouldn’t take much energy.

It was rather easy, which must speak to the state of the city -- a cesspit of vampires. His kind of city, really.

The vampire was very young, probably only a decade or so old, and they crumbled quickly under his threats. He didn’t even have to compel them.

“What is the King’s name?” He demanded, holding them up at the throat by a single hand, no wall to support their body.

They choked out, “Marcel! Marcel Gerard!”

Klaus was not proud to say that he dropped the baby vampire and hurried away.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm interested in writing more in this universe...thoughts?


End file.
